The Dark Day
by WriteChristineR
Summary: Written for a challenge to write a oneshot about a character reflecting on a tough time in his or her life in 2500 words or more.


The Dark Day

November thirtieth. He hated and he loved this day. He needed it, yet he wished it didn't exist. It was the one day out of three hundred and sixty-five that he could count on the fact that everybody in town would leave him alone, and while this offered him a kind of peace that he very rarely got, he would readily trade even a twenty-four hour long conversation with Taylor Doose for the reason that people left him alone to go away completely.

The reason for this rash reasoning was this: if the reason that all of Star's Hollow let him keep completely to himself for twenty-four hours was gone, William Danes would still be alive. Luke's father, the man that meant more to him than anyone knew, wouldn't have died, and that, to Luke, would be worth one whole day a year of painstaking conversation with Taylor Doose.

As it was, Luke didn't have the option of that trade. So on November thirtieth, the anniversary of his father's death, Luke associated with no one, and everyone knew it. He didn't know how much of Star's Hollow knew the reason for this "Dark Day," as they called it, but it didn't matter. He knew that Lorelai Gilmore knew, and assumed that she'd told her daughter, but beyond that, it really didn't matter if the rest of the town knew or not. Mystery was a part of his character, and what they didn't know he certainly wasn't going to explain.

Inevitably, it came around again that year. He woke up, but didn't bother getting out of bed right away. He allowed his mind to remember what day it was, and to remember things he normally tried not to think about. He didn't live in the present. He didn't think about anything that happened any more recently than eighteen years ago.

He thought about everything, from things as small and distant as fishing with his dad when he was eight to things as large and close as the day his father was diagnosed with cancer, and the day he died.

Luke had perhaps been the only person that every really got close to his father, besides Luke's mother. He'd always been sort of distant, a loner. His reputation had been exactly the reputation Luke had in Star's Hollow, and Luke was proud of that reputation.

To Luke, William was the ideal person. He could have done no wrong. He knew about everything he should have known about, and could do everything it was necessary for him to be able to do. Luke could have always talked to him if he felt he needed to, but William had never gone out of his way to make conversation with anyone. He had felt, as Luke always had, that small talk was completely unnecessary. Luke would have been happy if he were exactly like his father in every possible way. It was what he'd strived to be since he was a very small child.

Luke's dad had basically raised him and his sister. He'd been Luke's one parental figure through most of his childhood. He remembered his mother, but he'd never been able to get as close to her as he'd always been to his dad. He hadn't had the time, and had he, he knew he'd still have been closer to his father.

People said that William had been more outgoing before Elizabeth, Luke's mother, had died. Luke didn't know if that was true. People also said Luke had been more outgoing before William had died. He didn't know if that was true either, but he knew it was a possibility. Neither he nor his dad had ever been voted Mr. Personality, Luke did know that much.

Luke got out of bed with the intent of finding something to eat. He reached up into his cupboard and got a glass, set it down on the countertop and opened his fridge. He got a carton of milk from the fridge and filled the glass. He took a drink, then set the glass back on the counter and walked over to the stove. There was a thin cupboard above and to the left of the stove that few people noticed. Luke had only ever kept one thing in this cupboard, and he kept it far to the back, where no one that happened to look into the cupboard would be able to see it.

Luke reached into the cupboard and pulled out the unopened package. He pulled the wrapping open like one would open a bag of chips. Then he set the rectangular package down on the countertop and slid the clear plastic tray out of the dark blue package. He smiled faintly at the sweet scent coming from the small black disks in the tray. He picked one up, dipped it into the glass of milk and held it there for a moment. When it was cool and soft, he lifted it, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, to his lips and bit off the part of it he'd soaked in the milk. He closed his eyes, savoring the chocolaty goodness subtly broken up with the white cream. It was one of life's simple pleasures: it was an Oreo cookie.

It was his biggest secret and his security blanket. He always kept the package of Oreos in this cupboard with nothing else inside of it, and it was usually unopened. Every once in awhile when he woke up in particularly low spirits he'd eat an Oreo or two for breakfast, and every once and awhile when he had had a stressful day, he'd eat an Oreo or two for dessert, and on November thirtieth of each year his Oreo consumption alone would almost be enough to make Lorelai proud.

His dad, who had taught him the importance of eating healthfully, had also introduced him to the Oreo cookie. He'd almost always kept them in the house, and had eaten two almost every night before going to bed.

Luke finished his first Oreo and took another. He thought about how he would eat Oreos with his father every night when he was a kid. As he'd gotten older he hadn't done this as much, having realized that it wasn't healthy, but even then he'd occasionally sit down with his dad before bed and eat Oreos, especially after he'd had a bad day.

He thought about the first time his dad had taken him camping. He was seven years old, and they'd gone basically into the middle of nowhere and spent the whole weekend camping, fishing, talking, and not talking. They'd done that a few times after that, and the memories of those trips were some of the best memories Luke had.

He felt his mind wander. He was thinking about other things that had made him happy; other good memories. He was thinking about Lorelai. They'd been back in a relationship for a couple of months, and he not only felt bad about not talking to her for twenty-four hours, but he missed her. He'd seen her less than twelve hours before, and already he missed her.

She was the one person in the world that he might actually have loved as much as he had loved his father. He hadn't even had to tell her that he wouldn't be talking to her for the day. She'd remembered. The day before he'd started to say something about it, but she'd cut him off with a simple "I know," and gone on with a conversation about something else. She truly understood that he didn't want to talk or think about the significance of the day when it wasn't present.

He almost forgot for a moment about his dad in his thinking about Lorelai. He'd almost called her, and then thought better of it, remembering that he really did need this day to himself.

He sat down on his couch, bringing the package of Oreos and glass of milk with him. He set the package down on the cushion next to him and set the glass on the floor in front of him.

He thought about the day his dad was diagnosed. He thought about the few weeks before that when he just hadn't seemed right, hadn't seemed the same. He thought about the day not two weeks after the diagnosis when the doctor had told him that the cancer had already spread, and that there was nothing they could do. He thought about the few months after that when he'd get up early and go work in the store and rush home after it closed to find his father lying in bed, looking less and less like the dad he knew every day.

He felt his eyes stinging, and reached for another Oreo. This was why he needed this day to himself. These thoughts were one of the very few things that could make the ever-stoic Luke cry. Nobody needed to see that.

He thought about this very day eighteen years ago. He remembered the exact moment. He'd been standing there in his father's bedroom holding his hand. His sister had been God knows where, and it had been only Luke and his father. A moment later, it had been only Luke.

He leaned back in his seat and pressed his eyes closed. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks. He remembered how he had left work early that day, knowing his dad had been worse that morning than the night before, and just having a feeling. His feeling had been correct; he had died just barely an hour after Luke had gotten home.

He remembered the funeral, with what seemed like thousands of people, some of which Luke had never seem before, and others that Luke was sure had never liked his father all hugging him and telling them how sorry they were. He remembered wanting to either sink into the floor or vanish into the wall. At least twice he'd yelled at people to get away from him, and once he'd escaped to an upstairs room of the funeral home that he was sure he wasn't supposed to be in and sat there for almost an hour, until some obscure relative had found him and practically dragged him back into the room with all the intolerable people.

He remembered how his sister had made it to one hour of the first viewing, and hadn't even gone into the room where the casket was. After that, she'd had to go. Where she'd had to go, she hadn't told Luke, but she'd gone.

He shook his head. _Liz._ He wondered what she was doing. He wondered if she even realized that it was the anniversary of her father's death. He wondered.

He stared into space for a long moment, mind almost completely blank. He reached for another Oreo and picked up his glass again. He looked at the clock. It was almost noon. He knew he should probably think about finding something of actual substance to eat for lunch.

He got up and walked over to his fridge. He opened it and looked in, mind blanking on what he felt like eating. He knew he should eat something healthy and light like a salad to balance out all the Oreos he'd eaten, but he didn't feel like it. He thought about it for another moment, and he realized he wasn't really hungry anyway. He went back over to his couch and sat down.

What had he done the year before? He couldn't remember. He tended to push this day from his memory. Frankly, he was bored and he was tired of thinking, but he didn't want to go back to doing what he'd do on any other day. He wanted to grieve, but he almost felt he'd grieved himself out. He reached for another Oreo, not knowing what else to do.

_This is ridiculous_, he thought. He found himself wondering again what Lorelai was doing. The next thing he knew he had the phone in his hand and it was ringing, although he barely had any memory of dialing her cell phone number.

"Hey, why are you calling me?" she answered. "You're supposed to be totally out of contact today."

"What are you doing today?" he asked, not answering her question, but asking another instead.

"Working, then working, then working, then going home. Why?"

"What kind of work? Planning, or organizing, or running, or what?"

"Well, there's always running, and some planning, but it's just boring stuff today. Paperwork and Michel taming, stuff like that. I teach the lion to swallow Michel's head tomorrow."

"So nothing crucial? You could take a break?" Luke was half surprised at what he heard himself saying. He couldn't remember even thinking these things, he just heard them come out. It didn't sound like him.

"Nothing crucial. Why?"

"Why don't you… come over here for a little while? I mean, if you want to. If you're busy or whatever, that's fine, but… can you?" He sounded like a desperate teenager. He was disgusted with himself, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Absolutely. When?"

"Whenever you can. Did you eat lunch yet?"

"No. I haven't had a chance yet. Did you?"

"Nope. Come on over and we'll see if we can find something."

"Okay. Give me ten minutes."

"Great." Luke hung up, and wondered why he'd called her. He liked being by himself, especially on this day, but he didn't regret it. He regretted it even less when he saw her face appear in his doorway.

"Hey you," she said. She'd opened his door and let herself in, looking in first but not bothering to knock.

"Hi, Lorelai." He smiled faintly. He noticed a small bag in her left hand and wondered what it was.

She held the bag up and shook it gently. "I brought popcorn," she said. "I mean, I know it's not _healthy_ healthy, but it's not terrible for you either." She looked at him a little sideways, trying to gauge what he thought of the popcorn.

He smiled a little again. "Popcorn sounds great. Need a bowl?" He got up from the couch and started toward the kitchen.

"No, sit back down," Lorelai said. "Then you have to do dishes later. We'll just eat it out of the bag."

"Okay," he said, sitting back down where he was on the couch.

Lorelai came over to sit beside him and noticed the Oreos. She looked at them, and then looked at Luke. "I'll abuse you about that later," she said with a half-sympathetic expression. She walked past the Oreos and past Luke and sat down on his other side.

He smiled faintly and rolled his eyes in response.

"So," she asked him, "do you want to talk?" Her tone and expression made it quite clear that talking or not talking was completely up to him.

"Yea," he said. "I think."

"Okay. Then talk. And remember, you can kick me out whenever you want, I'm here because you wanted me here."

"Okay. What do I talk about?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. I guess I've already thought about everything there is to think about, you know, about my dad."

"I'll bet you haven't. You were close?"

"Pretty close."

"Do you remember the first thing you ever did together?"

He thought about that. He'd remembered the camping trips, but they had to have done things together before that. He remembered something earlier. "When I was four or five he took me into our garage and showed me this really old, short fishing rod. He told me it had belonged to his dad, and gave it to me. Then he took me down to the lake and showed me how to cast." He smiled.

"See? You didn't think of that yet, did you?"

"Not lately," he admitted.

"Concentrate on the good stuff. The bad stuff gets old. Trust me."

Luke smiled, understanding her point. He took a fistful of popcorn from the now opened bag and ate a few kernels. "Good idea," he said, meaning the popcorn and the advice.

Lorelai smiled back. She sat there with him for a while, neither one talking, and neither one minding.

"It still feels weird," Luke said at length. "It doesn't feel real. It's like he's still out there somewhere, just not here. Like one day he'll call me and want me to go fishing with him."

Lorelai half-smiled with a sympathetic gleam in her eye. "I can't say I really know about this stuff. I've never really had anyone really close to me die. But I can say that part of that's true. He is still out there, somewhere. You know I'm not that religious, but I do believe that much."

Luke felt a tear on his cheek, and instinctively reached up with his hand to try to block it from Lorelai's view. She gently pulled his hand back down to rest on his lap where it had been before. "It's okay," she said, with a knowing look.

"I believe it too," Luke said softly.

Lorelai nodded, then leaned her head on his shoulder and let him cry, or think, or talk, or not talk. They sat like that for a long moment, then Luke reached over and got two Oreos from the package. He offered one to Lorelai.

She smiled. "Who could refuse an Oreo?" she asked, and took it.

"Lorelai, I really love you," Luke said after eating his Oreo.

"I love you too," Lorelai said in response.

"I want to marry you someday. Someday soon."

"Is that a proposal?" Lorelai asked, half-frowning, not sure how to take Luke's statement.

"Think of it as a pre-proposal," he said thoughtfully.

"Well, then think of this as my pre-acceptance," Lorelai said, smiling softly and twisting her neck upward so that she looked at him.

Luke kissed her lips gently. With no disrespect for his father, his "dark day" hadn't been quite so dark this year.


End file.
